Always Crashing In The Same Car
by eeviee
Summary: Dean is losing Sam down the road of drug addiction.
1. Chapter 1

**Always Crashing In The Same Car**

"_Every Chance, every chance that I take_

_I take it on the road_

_Those kilometers and the red lights_

_Oh, but I'm always crashing in the same car" _

– Always Crashing In The Same Car by David Bowie

Sam is slipping and Dean should have seen it coming.

Sam buys Shrooms from a longhaired hippie in Vermont, snorts Crystal Meth in Portland and rides shotgun across the entire Midwest delirious from LSD. He steals painkillers from clinics, popping them at the same frequency of breathing, washing them down with hard liquor.

But it's in Miami where heroin takes Sam hostage.

The sickly, sweet smell on Sam's flannel. The long sleeves under the Florida summer sun. The way his skin is tight across his bones. The disappearing for days on end, lame excuses and increased need for money.  
_  
"Hustling pool just isn't doing it anymore, Dean."_

Right now, Sam is leaned against a grimy back-way alley, pressed into the darkness and cold of the night. Dean hadn't seen him in three weeks; the longest that Sam has ever stayed out without calling.

Dean is searching for Sam. Searching because Sam called him two day's ago saying good-bye, searching because Dean is more prepared to find Sam as a dead, stinking corpse that has been forgotten along with all of the other bums littered along Liberty City.

Dean hears Sam's pained breathing along 52nd Street easily in the same way a Vampire Bat locates its prey in the night. Dean figures it's a little ridiculous, kind of the way a mother can hear it's own crying baby in a room of a million crying babes.

Sam's skinny. Too skinny. His jeans are practically slipping off of his hips and he is swimming in the black t-shirt that he once used to fill out. Dean can see that Sam's eyes are glazed, reflecting only white. His head bob's every so often and Dean knows that Sam is pretty much out in the stars.

Dean thumbs Sam's eyes open, sees his pinpointed pupils and knows what it is right away. Even worse are the popped roads in the crooks of Sam's arms, the dots between his fingers and most likely his toes.

Sam makes a plant towards the ground but Dean manages to catch him by the shoulders right before Sam's chin cracks the cold ground. But instead of Sam's head rising, it stays dropped to his chest and all Dean can see is the top of Sam's head; mussed dark chestnut hair.

He tries to rouse Sam, gives him a few good shakes but Sam doesn't even twitch.

Sam's breathing is shallow. So shallow. When Dean puts two fingers up to Sam's neck to take his pulse, Sam's neck is slick with cold sweat.

And god, Sam looks so tired.

Dean is seriously about to call an ambulance, the 9 and one 1 already entered into the phone, when Sam stirs and his head bobs up once just a tiny bit. Dean drags his oblivious brother down two blocks and loads him into the backseat of the Impala.

Dean turns on the heat full blast because even though it's Miami, it still can get rather cold at night and Sam's body is shivering except Dean doesn't know if it's because of the drugs or low body temperature. Probably both.

After a couple of hours, Sam is able to follow directions and is starting to become a little more lucid and a little bit more agitated as Dean drills him with questions.

_When did you start this Sam, huh? Was it last week in Austin? Last MONTH in Colorado? Where the fuck are you getting the junk, Sam? You're obviously getting hooked up in every city and I don't even want to know how you manage to get fucking connections everywhere when I'm the one that pays the phone bills. _

The yelling seems to be making Sam more irritated but at the same time more aware and Sam finally sits up in the back seat, his pupils still tiny pricks but he looks Dean straight in the eye.

"I can control it. It's only every once and awhile, Dean. I promise. I'll quit okay? It was my last time. I swear."

Dean believes him because this is Sam. This is his geeky, kid brother and Sam is smart. Sam went to _Stanford. _Sam knows better.

**Okay. So I have no idea where any of this came from, but I've wanted to write a drug addiction fic for a long long time. Please let me know what you think & if I should continue because I definitely could keep going & reviews are MY drug of choice haha. Anyways, thank you for reading!! **


	2. Chapter 2

Sam doesn't know better.

Sam comes back to the room with fucking _needles, _tiny packets of brown. Sam stumbles in, chipping paint off the peeling walls and he hangs on for support. He passes out as soon as majority of his body hits a solid surface and Dean is left to rip the needle right out of Sam's arm, blood splattering as the syringe jerks from the surface of Sam's skin.

Sam zones out, usually passing out, but his lips never turn so deeply blue like they are right now. Even more then the blue that Dean bruises onto Sam's sternum as he tries to bring him back around. Sam's eyes won't open. Sam won't respond. All of Sam is hanging so limply, so boneless that it scares Dean more then he has ever been scared before.

He hoists Sam upwards and starts literally dragging Sam's body around the room because he seen movies where if someone overdoses on Heroin that you should get get them moving and keep blood pumping?. Something about keeping blood away from the heart.

But Jesus Christ, its just a movie and Sam's sneakers are dragging on the carpet. Sam isn't even the slightest bit aware right now. He's out and Dean isn't sure if he's going to come back this time.

_This time. _

Because technically, every time Sam gets high, he overdoses. So in reality, this isn't anything new right?

Dean hears a faint gurgling noise and it's coming from deep in Sam's throat and that really can't be good. It isn't because right as it stops, Sam isn't breathing. Sam doesn't have a pulse, his fingernails are blue. Right now, Sam is dead.

Dean lowers Sam to the ground, rolls him into the recovery position and calls an ambulance. It must be sheer luck because immediately he hears the wail of sirens and two minutes later, the Paramedic's have barged into the room and are shouting things such as "Herion OD" and "Administering Nalaxcone" and Sam is gasping for air, and Dean can too now finally breathe.

Sam starts to retch and pukes all over one of the Paramedic's who is crouching next to Sam. The Paramedic curses and draws back and Dean hears him mumble something about AIDS and Dean wants to punch him in the face.

It's only a couple of minutes before Sam is almost fully awake and angry. The Paramedic's shuffle out, one threatens to report them to the police and Dean knows it's not because they care about Sam, it's because they don't want to come back on call to save another stupid junkie. Dean promises that it won't happen again closes the door behind them and turns back to his brother.

Sam is glaring at Dean, the front of his shirt covered in vomit and he is angry because they ruined his high. Dean feels sick. Sam almost DIED and he is worried about his HIGH?

"You overdosed, Sam!"

"I overdose all the time Dean! I know how to not fucking kill myself."

Dean slowly turns around so that he is face to face with Sam.

"You _did _kill yourself you stupid son of a bitch." He clocks Sam so hard that Sam staggers backwards a bit, his knuckles white as he grips the side of the couch.

Surprisingly, Sam doesn't fight back. Instead he leaves, the door slamming behind him shaking the papery walls along with Dean's sanity.

**What do you think?!?!? I love reviews! Haha. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it's taken me so long to update. Anywaays. Here's more :]**

Dean drags Sam to the nearest Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Center. A quick look in the motel's phone book locates one only a couple of miles out of town. They wait in hard plastic chairs, Sam fiddling with his cell phone, turned away from Dean, refusing to even look at him. They wait nearly seven hours before Sam's name is even called.

"I'm sorry." The lady behind the desk says, glancing at Sam from above her glasses. "We don't admit anyone who hasn't been clean for 72 hours."

Dean wants to lie. He wants to crank the Winchester charm to 110% and give her the smile that makes all ladies swoon regardless of their age but by the way that Sam is slumped in the chair, with fresh track marks and sunken eyes, Sam has every textbook sign of a junkie.

"This program has a success rate of 43%." She says it with obvious pride. A few months ago, Dean's jaw would have dropped. Less then half is good?!?!

No, in the world of recovering drug addicts. 43% is _excellent. _

"We select candidates carefully. They must have the want to actually _stay _sober." From the way that she says it, it sure as hell doesn't sound like she has much hope for Sam.

It half scares Dean and half angers him. It scares him because she has probably seen countless drug addicts and yet doesn't want to invest in Sam.

Sam. Dean's dimpled, compassionate and intelligent little brother. She doesn't see the kid who got into Stanford with a full ride. She sees a junkie. A junkie with no hope. It also makes Dean angry because once again, he found someone who has no hope for Sam. He's getting sick of it because no one has any hope for Sam.

No one but himself and Dean isn't giving up on him.

He slams his fist on the table. "Look lady. He wants to get better."

The woman lifts an eyebrow. "Oh does he?"

Dean slowly nods. Right now, he wants to punch her in between the eyes but god, he knows it's not her fault. She's just being honest but it doesn't mean Dean has to like it. The woman leans forward, her voice quiet.

"I'd say _you_ want him to stop using." Her voice is compassionate but Dean glares at her.

"No shit, lady." He snaps.

"When _he's _ready for treatment, you can try coming back."

Dean doesn't know if Sam will ever be ready.

**I really would love to know what you guys think! Please please review :]**


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